


Day Late, Dollar Short

by jetblackmirror (orphan_account)



Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Album), My Chemical Romance
Genre: M/M, unprotected sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-08
Updated: 2010-11-08
Packaged: 2017-10-16 02:49:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/167622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/jetblackmirror
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grin and bear it, little zombie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Day Late, Dollar Short

**Author's Note:**

> Buzzkill (mentioned in passing here) belongs to [butyoumight](http://butyoumight.dreamwidth.org/).

"A second chance, take a life, another mission  
To steal a kiss from borrowed lips, to taste your prison  
It feels like a lifetime of leaving bodies on the sidelines  
I swear to God girl you're never gonna regret this  
Close your eyes this will only take a second  
Though these veins are borrowed, this heart only beats for you"  
-Bodysnatchers 4 Ever,  
LeATHERMØUTH

 

For a moment, Fun Ghoul can't figure out why his cheek is throbbing. Why it feels like the bone might be shattered, why there's the sting of split skin under his eye and the warm trickle of blood down to his jaw. He's on the ground, recently disturbed dust settling around him, and his ass hurts from the fall he doesn't remember taking. None of this is right. He was at the Trans-Am, messing around under the hood, trying to keep Party Poison's piece of shit car running. Why is he on the ground with a quickly swelling cheek and possible black eye setting in?

"You motherfucker!" There's a voice above him, making itself heard over the ringing in Fun Ghoul's ears. The pieces are slowly falling into place, and they have a much faster time of it when he looks up and sees Party Poison standing over him, yelling like a possessed thing and pointing a finger in his face.

"I..." Fun Ghoul starts to explain himself, but then he's not exactly sure what he's supposed to be explaining. All he was doing was fixing the god damned car.

"How could you take such a risk?" Party Poison slams the hood of the car down, and Fun Ghoul winces, shifting about in the sand and trying to get his feet up under himself again.

"You could have fucked everything we've been working on. How can you be such a fucking moron?" Party Poison hits the hood now, his chest vibrating with barely controlled gasps, hands balled into fists so tight his fingers are turning white where they're not red from beating on various objects and persons.

Fun Ghoul makes it to his feet, rubbing at his cheek, his confusion slowly transforming into anger, building in his belly and spreading up and out to his arms, his own hands becoming fists to match Party Poison's. "I have no fucking clue what you're talking about, asshole. I was just working on your fuckin' car!"

"You know exactly what I'm talking about." Party Poison grabs Fun Ghoul by the front of his leather vest, pulling him up onto his toes, and glaring death as red as his hair into his face. "You're little espionage mission, the one you and bullshit fucking Buzzkill went on? Into the fucking _City_?"

Fun Ghoul glares right back at Party Poison, reaching up to grip his wrists. He digs his nails in good, right where the gasp between his jacket and gloves is. "Oh, is that all you're pissed about? That's what's got your girly panties in a fucking twist?"

Fun Ghoul gives Party Poison's wrists a good sharp twist, managing to squirm his way free of his vice grip. He pulls his arm back and swings, landing a hit against his supposed leader's jaw. Party Poison stumbles back a few paces, touching his jaw with hesitant fingers, like he can't believe Fun Ghoul actually hit him back. That's a laugh riot. A fucking joke for the ages.

"We barely got into the suburbs, we were in and out in twenty five. We didn't even see any fucking Dracs, it was nothing!" Fun Ghoul spits at Party Poison's boots, a little surprised to see it tinted red when it hits the sand. He runs his tongue over the inside of his cheek, finding a swelling sore where his teeth sliced open the delicate skin there. He spits again, to get the sudden taste of blood out of his mouth, and this one meets Party Poison's cheek.

Party Poison lunges for him, and Fun Ghoul barely manages to side step him, getting a foot out and tripping him good before he nearly falls over himself. He grabs the car to keep his balance, almost falling face first onto the hood.

"You risked too much, asshole. What if you'd been caught? They'd brain wash you or torture you for information." Party Poison growls as he gets back to his feet, reaching for Fun Ghoul and grabbing him by his hair. He yanks hard, pulling his head back so he can sneer in his face. "Or _both_."

Fun Ghoul is panting, deep gasping breaths, almost perfectly matched with Party Poison's, he can feel Party Poison's hot against his cheek. For a few moments that's all there is, heavy breathing and the sting in his scalp and the throbbing in his cheek. Party Poison is pressed right up against his side, his jaw starting to purple, sweat inching down from his hairline, turning the dust covering his cheeks to mud.

Party Poison breaks the moment, leaning in right up against Fun Ghoul's ear, his voice a rough whisper. "What if they'd gotten you, Frank?"

And then Party Poison's free hand is on Fun Ghoul's belt buckle, fumbling awkwardly as he tries to get it open with it pressing up against the car like it is. Fun Ghoul moves on instinct, lifting his hips off the car just enough so that his belt is open in a heartbeat. Party Poison's fingers yank the button of his jeans open after, his zipper sliding down as soon as Party Poison's hand is inside his briefs.

"Oh, _fuck_." Fun Ghoul falls forward, the sun soaked hood of the car burning his palms. His hips jerk forward; he can't even pretend to stop them for moving like that. Party Poison's hand is hot and calloused and gloved and knows just how to grip to put all of these factors to full use. "You fucking bastard."

"What if I had lost you? You son of a bitch." Party Poison yanks on Fun Ghoul's hair again, pulling his head back and exposing his throat, even with the bandana in the way. He leans in, biting hard at Fun Ghoul's pulse point and then sucking just as hard, like he wants to pull the artery right through his skin, suck the life force right out of his blood.

Fun Ghoul's hands curl into fists, the heat from the car almost burning the sensitive skin between his knuckles. He wants to punch Party Poison again, for acting like he knows everything about everything. For acting like he can just grope at his dick and make his point that way. For getting him hard so fast he feels like he's always been hard, always in need of that hand and that mouth and that fucking voice berating him for being a little shit moron. "Cocksucker."

And fucking Party Poison just giggles at him. Fucking giggles in that infuriating way of his, a cross between a school girl and a stoner, neither of which were accurate descriptions for Party Poison. He sucks and bites his way to up Fun Ghoul's ear, nipping at his earlobe before growling. "Suicide case."

"Egomaniac." Fun Ghoul gasps when Party Poison's hand moves just so, just enough to make his hips jerk forward, and then pulls his hand out. Fun Ghoul would whine if he didn't still have some control over himself, as it is he just hisses, spitting at the hood of Party Poison's stupid fucking car.

"Megalomaniac." Part Poison yanks Fun Ghoul's jeans down to his knees, bringing his briefs right along with them. His feet move between Fun Ghoul's, spreading his legs apart and moving up behind him. He pins him to the car with his knees as he works his own belt open, sliding his hand into his jeans and working his dick a few time so his zipper rubs against Fun Ghoul's bare ass.

"If you're gonna fuck me, then fucking fuck me, asshole." Fun Ghoul bangs on the hood of the car hard enough to dent it, hoping maybe that will get through Party Poison's sick, demented head.

Party Poison twists at Fun Ghoul's bandana, spinning it around in one smooth motion and getting the knot between his teeth. He grabs the front of it, now in the back, and yanks, gagging him good and proper. "Shut up."

Like Fun Ghoul had a choice in the matter.

Party Poison keeps the makeshift gag in Fun Ghoul's mouth as he works his own jeans down far enough to free his dick. He spits in his other hand, slicking his dick up as best he can. He can feel Fun Ghoul spreading his legs a bit more as he brings their hips together, whether the little shit is aware of it or not, and he presses forward just a fraction with the head of his cock.

There's always a moment of worry they both silently share when it comes to this point, worry over the lack of protection. Condoms were few and far between in the Zones outside Battery City, and even the ones available there were rationed out with the pills and the propaganda. Party Poison rests his hand on the small of Fun Ghoul's back, muttering a silent apology to Frank, and an equally silent prayer for the both of them.

He grips Fun Ghoul's hip hard a second later, and drives his dick in with such force Fun Ghoul falls onto the hood of the car, his chin hitting the metal and adding another dent to the mix. Party Poison still has a point to make, damn it, and he's going to fucking make it the only way Fun Ghoul will understand.

There's never much time these days to take things slow, especially not like this, out in the open with your jeans around your knees and the sun beating down on your neck. A Drac could come and try to ghost you at any time, and you had to be ready, had to be prepared with your pants on and your ray gun drawn. They didn't even sleep out of their clothes much these days, not even in the relative safety of the bunker. Slow sex was a luxury for the old days, for wives and beds and sheets. Out here in the Zones all you did was fuck. In and out and thank you kindly, sir.

But Party Poison, Gerard, he likes to hover for just a moment once he's all the way inside. Likes to draw out that first thrust as long as he can. Fun Ghoul feels amazing, always feels amazing, even without proper lubrication, even with him pissed as shit and ready to punch you in the nose if you don't hurry the fuck up already. Party Poison sometimes wonders what it would have been like before, what sex with Frank would have felt like, with seemingly all the time in the world stretching out ahead of them. It wasn't until they had to run to the Zones, had to leave their families, that they'd gotten more physical than kisses, more intimate than the occasional grope.

This isn't intimacy like it's supposed to be, but out here it's all they have, and Gerard likes to savor as much of the few moments of it that he can get.

Fun Ghoul hisses around the knot between his teeth, hisses and growls and stomps his foot down on Party Poison's, hard enough to break toes if the boots weren't steel lined. Party Poison answers his frustration with another sharp tug on the bandana, yanking Fun Ghoul's head back as he pulls his dick almost out. He steals one more moment, hovering like what's left of the world might break if he moves, and then he drives forward again. And this time it's him banging Fun Ghoul's head against the hood of the car, pressing his cheek against the searing metal even as he keeps the gag in place.

His hips work up a rhythm that can only be described as brutal. To the point where the car rocks with each thrust, Fun Ghoul's knees banging into the bumper. Party Poison's jagged nails dig into the neatly inked skin just inside Fun Ghoul's hip, stabbing at the sparrow like he could claw it off. Mount it on the dash like some deranged ornament.

Fun Ghoul's hair is already soaked with sweat, and Party Poison can feel beads trickling down his own spine as his hips keep up their furious pace. Sweat drips down from his forehead, hovering on the tip of his nose before falling onto Fun Ghoul's cheek. Everything is hot and sticky. Everything is made sharp and real by Party Poison's groans and Fun Ghoul's muffled screams.

Party Poison shifts a little, bending his knees slightly so he can better angle his hips with Fun Ghoul's. He knows when his dick hits Fun Ghoul's prostate by the way every muscle in his little body tenses up, by the way his screams suddenly go silent, by the way he stops breathing. Party Poison smirks, and keeps his hips moving, each thrust hitting home just as Fun Ghoul is about to gasp, keeping him from getting a full breath.

It doesn't take long for Fun Ghoul to get off at this pace. Party Poison can feel his legs shaking like there's a quake beneath them, and he makes a point to watch Fun Ghoul's eyes as they cross and then roll back, like he's suffered a severe blow to the head. He's clawing at the hood of the car like he's trying to dig a trench for himself in the metal, his nails scraping up flecks of paint and rust, his finger starting to bleed from the friction.

Party Poison doesn't slow down or waver, just keeps fucking Fun Ghoul raw until his own orgasm hits. Every time he does this with Frank it's the same, the same wave of euphoria that makes him feel like he's dying, makes spots appear in his vision, makes every muscle and nerve in his body scream out and beg for the end of the world.

Gerard falls on top of Frank, his hand finally letting go of the bandana, letting Frank breathe freely like he needs to. They're both gasping, the stale desert air filling their ragged lungs with dust. They're covered in sweat, without a breeze or shade to give them any sort of relief, and Gerard feels like he may pass out if he tries to move. He might pass out anyway with the sun beating down on them, with the heat rising off Frank's body.

Frank groans softly, flexing his jaw to make sure he can still move it properly. When Gerard pulls back, pulls out and finally gets up off him, Frank is both relieved and a little sad. There was always this empty feeling after, even with the sticky slick between his legs, that makes him feel unwhole. Like he's less of a person. Which he's pretty sure is the opposite of whatever point Party Poison was trying to make, but it is what it is.

It feels like he came all over the hood of the car, from the way his dick slides against the metal, and he's pretty sure there's some on his boots too. Which is just peachy, not like they were his only pair or anything. Frank hears the quick drag of a zipper behind him as he lifts himself up on his arms, his elbows shaking so bad he almost falls on his face again. There's a clink of metal, the sound of a belt being rebuckled, and then Gerard has an arm around his waist, lifting him up off the car like he weighs about the same as a notebook.

Frank sways on his feet, laughing like he's stoned as Gerard tugs his pants back up, sets his zipper and button right again. And then Frank's suddenly wrapped up in a tight hug, Gerard's cheek pressed against his ear, a mess of damp red hair in his face.

"I can't lose you."

Frank just nods, patting one of Gerard's arms awkwardly. The moment feels strained, out of place in time, and so uncomfortable Frank thinks he should clear his throat just to break it. It's all he can do not to let out a long, relieved sigh when Gerard pulls away.

Fun Ghoul turns around, just in time for Party Poison's leather clad hand to hit his cheek, making his head snap to the side. Fun Ghoul takes it, lets his cheek sting all over again without retaliation, and when he looks forward again he focuses his eyes on the blurry desert horizon just past Party Poison's ear. He doesn't let himself look at Party Poison. Doesn't let himself react. He just stands there, like a solider being reprimanded, and grits his teeth so hard they almost crack.

"You're so fucking stupid." Party Poison spits at Fun Ghoul's boot, the one with his sperm still inching down toward the sole, and then he turns and stalks off back toward the bunker.


End file.
